


Close Fucking Proximity

by Catchclaw



Series: Mental Mimosa [264]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Crushes, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Crack, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Rapidly Approaching Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-02-26 19:08:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18723136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchclaw/pseuds/Catchclaw
Summary: The problem is that Steve doesn’t want to fuck him.The problem is (Tony thinks) that Steve actuallydoes.





	Close Fucking Proximity

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics.

The problem is that they’re not actually dating.

The problem is that Tony is seriously, actually in heat.

“What I don’t understand,” Steve says for the tenth time in an hour, “is how you didn’t know this was coming.”

Tony (yet again) holds up a hand. “Point of order, I did know in general terms. But, you know, bad news, heats don’t have the best manners. They tend not to send RSVPs; they’re much more the kick down your door at two in the morning and set your bed on fire type.”

“Yeah, Steve,” Bucky says from his incline, laconic. “C’mon, I know you remember sex ed."

Steve glares over at the bed. “You’re not helping.”

“I could be, but you two are are choosing to ignore my solution: the simplest, I might add, and most logical one. That’s not my fault. That’s yours.” He snorts. “Idiots, the both of you. God.”

They’ve been at this for an hour and Tony’s exhausted. Strike that: Tony’s brain is exhausted, his body is not. His body, humiliatingly, feels ten Red Bull’s worth of ALIVE. Alive and stupidly happy, almost giddy, because his body is dumb and 100% does not grok that alpha in close fucking proximity will not be resulting this evening in a close proximity fuck. It might, if said alpha was Bucky, Mr. Practical and Also Gorgeous and Probably in Possession of a Very Nice Dick. But Bucky’s a beta--switch hitter extraordinaire--which normally would be right up Tony’s alley (ha), but tonight, when his hormonal system is half an hour from haywire, not so much. No, right now, at this sexed-up hour of his discontent, what his body wants is an alpha only, thank you, and if only the nearest alpha weren’t Steve Goddamn Rogers, the thought of the next 24 hours--of spending them alone, of spending them empty, jesus--wouldn’t make his stomach sink like a pit.

The problem is that Steve doesn’t want to fuck him.

The problem is (Tony thinks) that Steve actually _does_.

Never mind that the whole fake-polyamory-triad schtick has stretched them all a little thin. They're here to make nice with the Sualla, friends of Carol’s; she’s apparently saved their homeworld once or twice. So, friendly aliens with some kick-ass magic tech = good. Friendly aliens whose society was organized in powers of three = fine. Friendly aliens who would only agree to serious diplomatic negotiations if Earth sent its most trusted threesome = oh boy.

There’d been a vote. Tony still wasn’t sure if technically he’d won or lost. Banner’s expression and Rhodey’s cackling laughter made him guess it was the latter. So had Steve’s crashed angel food face.

But whatever: they were here and they had shit to do and if they went home either empty-handed or having ticked off Captain Marvel’s buddies, the best they’d get as a homecoming present was a Kree-powered blast to the junk, so, yeah, as far as Tony was concerned, they weren’t lifting a wing off this (very nice and tastefully appointed) rock, even if his well-meaning but kind of disastrous body was racing full speed into heat.

“Look,” he says, hauling himself off the beanbag cupcake thing that the Suella passed off as a chair. “This is stupid. I don’t know why we’re even talking about this. I’m just gonna lock myself in the bathroom for the next day or so and you guys can, you know, go about your business until my heat is out of juice and then, ok, we move on.”

Steve looks zero percent mollified. “That,” he says, Captain Righteous, “is a goddamn terrible plan.”

Tony looks Bucky, who shrugs, then back at Steve again. “Fine. You guys wanna hang out in the bathroom while I, uh, do my thing in here?”

“No!”

The word comes out so sharp that Tony sits back down hard and Bucky sits up, ears pricked.

“I mean,” Steve says, his cheeks a hilarious shade of not pale, “sorry, I meant, no, Tony. We both know that’s not a viable option. Once you start, er, you know, then there’s a high likelihood that I’ll”--he flails a little, which Tony should not find endearing--“there will be instincts that kick in, and I might, you know--”

“He might rip the door off the hinges to get to you,” Bucky says, grinning like a little shit. “That’s what he means.”

“Oh,” Tony says. His knees feel pleasantly swimmy, melting Jello. “Huh. Oh.”

“Yeah,” Steve says. He looks as unsteady as Tony feels. “Yeah. So.”

Tony’s always had a sense that Steve likes him. In more than the we-both-wear-metaphorical-capes sense. To be fair, though, Tony would be the first to admit that his baseline assumption with most people he meets is that he is, compared with the general populace, seriously crush-worthy. So it’s kind of a default.

Except most people are not old men running around in a young man’s body. Most people do not call Tony on his bullshit, or his tendency to swear at Cabinet secretaries, or directly question his Gemini dependencies on caffeine and adrenaline (see also: booze). Most people do not make a point to crawl up his ass when he fucks up or make it clear that he do the same in return; most people, Tony’s found, superhero or otherwise, do not like to admit their mistakes.

So there’s been part of him for all these years that’s wondered why he warrants special treatment from Rogers, who, as far as he can tell, doesn’t ride anybody else’s ass as hard as he does Tony’s.

Ok, except Bucky’s. But that’s a whole different thing.

And Tony being Tony, he tends to read being singled out as being special, and being special as being liked, and being liked as wanting to strip off respective suits and seriously bone, so yeah, he’s been convinced that Steve wants him for ages, Walking Sputnik notwithstanding, and Steve’s reaction to this whole heat disaster, weirdly, hadn’t changed a damn thing.

If Steve didn’t care about him, he’d fuck him and get it over with. Case closed.

But if Steve _did_ care about him, Cap would be reacting exactly like this: with hand-wringing and frantic problem solving and ridiculous attempts to overcome basic biology.

Yeah, he would.

“Stevie,” Bucky sighs. The bed creaks; Bucky’s legs swing over the side. “Can we stop playing plausible deniability society here, please? You want Tony. Tony wants you. A few more ticks of the clock and neither of you is gonna have an actual say in the proceedings, so how about you just lock lips already, huh? When you’re both not to stoned on hormones to remember. Might be nice to be, you know, fully aware for your first kiss."

It is, without question, the longest strand of sentences that Tony’s ever heard the man string and oh, fuck, say what you will about the man or not: Bucky’s got killer good timing. And A+ persuasion skills, too, because Steve is standing right there, Steve is grabbing; Steve is yanking Tony hard to his feet.

“Just for the record,” Steve says, halfway to hoarse, “I’ve had a crush on you since forever.”

“Yeah,” Tony says, winding his arms around that big, blockheaded neck, beaming. “I know.”


End file.
